


The Quiet and Cold

by wyse_ink



Category: Psycho-Pass
Genre: Canon Divergence (As of Season 3), Canon Universe, Character Study, Crimes & Criminals, F/M, Romance, Sexual Content, Shinkane - Freeform, ShinkaneWeek, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:21:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22057690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wyse_ink/pseuds/wyse_ink
Summary: Promises aren't always broken or kept, and sometimes, truths are in-between.Written for Shinkane Week 2019.
Relationships: Kougami Shinya/Tsunemori Akane
Comments: 8
Kudos: 67





	The Quiet and Cold

She doesn’t mean to stare. In fact, she doesn’t realize that her eyes have settled over his scars. The old ones near his side are from bullets she recalls too well: remnants from the days when she’d been a rookie and he’d been lured into Makishima and Senguji’s trap. Others are minor--small and faded that might have been caused by fights that had ended more clearly in his favor. But the deep, red lines permanently etched into his skin draw her attention most. They move and disappear from sight once again as he replaces his shirt with a new one: loose cotton, she notes, the thought amusing her. He catches her watching him then and raises an eyebrow slightly.  
“Is there something on my shirt, Inspector?” he asks, and she waves a hand dismissively.  
“I’m sorry,” she says, feeling the blush threatening to creep to her cheeks. After all these years, she thinks, he still has that effect. She adds an amused smile, one that she hopes will make the tinge less obvious. “I didn’t know you owned a t-shirt.”  
He smirks at that, and Akane knows he understands her implication. During his days as an enforcer--and likely as an inspector too, though that had been before her time at the Bureau--he’d only ever donned suits, well-tailored but worn lazily as though he’d hadn’t cared for the details. He’d owned training gear too, of course, and when she’d encountered him in Shamballa, he’d been clad in tactical gear made for fighting and to withstand the tough climate. Since then jeans had become his norm, even sweatpants when he was home to stay, and Akane decides she likes the change and his preference for something more casual.  
Each is an observation she assures herself she’s made because of her line of work.  
Kogami crosses the room then, taking a seat on the sofa opposite her. “Well then, Inspector, what about this case?”  
Akane reaches into her bag and produces the file she’s brought with her. She slides it across the coffee table towards him, pulling up the digital copy on her own watch. “Ito Hisato, twenty-four,” she begins as he begins to examine the documents. “Found dead inside his own apartment with apparent wounds to his neck.”  
“Strangled,” Kogami muttered, and she nodded.  
“Autopsy revealed that the cause of death was strangulation, but no ligature was found at the scene. He’d already been dead for hours before we arrived.”  
“And it’s clearly not a suicide,” he stated, selecting a photo from the file and tracing the space around the victim with his index finger. Her eyes followed, knowing what he’d detected. The slightest hints of a struggle. Barely visible marks on the carpet that feet had dragged across rather than stepped. A rug that didn’t match the decor that had clearly been added when a specific intention. There was also the way in which the victim’s hand was positioned--too meticulously near a belt that didn’t match the wounds.  
She tries to keep her focus on the image as Kogami pauses and reaches for a cigarette. She watches the spark that the lighter produces and the smoke that twists into the air. The familiar scent fills the room almost instantly, and she closes her digital file, clasping her hands in her lap. “There’s something else I wanted to talk to you about, Kogami-san.”  
“And what’s that, Inspector?”  
Akane thinks for a minute before speaking quietly. “You told me once you’d always be a detective.”  
“I broke that promise,” he states. Matter-of-factly, she notes, though there’s a hint of something else in his tone too she can’t quite identify.  
“Would you ever become one again?”  
His eyes meet hers, and for a moment, she wonders if he won’t answer at all. She can see him thinking; feel it even as he processes her question. The drag he takes on his cigarette only confirms what she suspects, and when he exhales, her eyes shift to the smoke that fills the room between them again.  
“You know I don’t mind helping with a case,” he begins, and she holds his gaze.  
“You enjoy it.”  
“I enjoy it,” he admits, the hint of a smirk on his lips at what she guesses is her directness. “But officially...”  
Akane nods once. She’d expected as much, but even still, she can’t shake the slight disappointment in hearing it out loud. “But you came back.”  
Humming in quiet confirmation, he leans back against the cushions. The silence that follows holds the weight of the past decade they’ve endured. Makishima, Kamui, the system and Shamballa--all twisting and merging together in ways that Akane has long stopped trying to make sense of. Kogami had been in the thick of it all, and bit by bit she’d begun to piece together the details of what he hadn’t told her.  
She wonders if he’s begun to do the same with her.  
His being transferred to a new division in Japan had come as the biggest shock of all, and she’d never been able to shake the feeling that he was walking a fine line between the life she’d met him living and another she could only guess at. Officially, he was not a part of their current case, or any cases Division 1 handled. He’d raised a brow when Akane had first asked for his input after his return, but after a moment had sat down in the same place he did now, producing a lighter and drifting into thought. They’d gone back and forth, debating and producing pieces of the puzzle that would bring a killer to justice.  
A killer who, Akane knows, will be tracked down in a matter of days.  
The look he bears in his eyes doesn’t match the subtle smile that crosses his face when he nods at the photo again. “So, Inspector. What’s next?”

*

They find him in an abandoned slum on the city’s outskirts. Akane watches as Sugo leads the disgruntled man to the cruiser, hands cuffed behind his back. His hue isn’t as clouded as she’d anticipated, and even now his shoulders slump forward rather than tensing in fear or anger. He knows time’s almost up, Kogami’s voice echoes in her mind as she watches as the door closes behind him. Something about those words and seeing the man’s demeanor now is unsettling, and despite her best efforts, she can’t stop the shiver that makes its way down her spine.  
“You have to wonder if it was all worth it,” Ginoza says, and she gives a small shake of her head. She can feel the look he gives her then and turns, giving something as close to a smile as she can muster.  
“What do you think, Ginoza-san?”  
“About what? Killing over a business deal gone wrong?” He pauses, amusement flickering in his eyes as he takes in her expression at that before he grows serious again. “They say those who seek revenge always dig two graves.”  
The patrol car’s headlights reflect off the snow that’s begun to accumulate on the ground. Until now, she’s barely noticed the cold. Pulling her jacket more tightly around her she takes in a deep breath and exhales. Her breath forms a small cloud in front of her, and in her peripheral vision, she notices Ginoza checking his watch.  
“It’s getting late,” he tells her. “We can finish up here if you want to head back.”  
She starts to protest but her tiredness and the cold the best of her. She turns on her heel and makes her way back to the car.

*

A layer of frost has formed on the windows and the wind has picked up, leaving the world outside a snowy blur. She knows she would’ve been wiser to return home, back to her apartment for a peaceful night’s rest. But something about the cold and the case had made her hesitant, and she’d found herself on another doorstep entirely.  
Fatigue had threatened to settle over her at first, mixing with the lingering hints of cold from the outside and the comforting scent of smoke and brewing tea. They’d settled into one of their usual routines: discussion turning into quiet contemplation, his brow furrowing as she’d continued before his lips had curved into a smile when she’d said something that’d surprised him. Back and forth they’d gone, from the outcome of the case to talk of law and philosophy. Akane doesn’t recall the moment when their chatter had stopped completely, lips meeting in wordless conversation. Instead, she takes in the contrast between the lingering mint and smoke on his tongue. Shivering at the warmth that follows as one hand wanders and slips between her blouse and skin, she notes the calluses that mark his skin when he rests his hand just above the clasp and lace. She pauses and they separate, just enough for him to murmur a single word against her lips.  
“Akane.”  
It brings a tired smile to her own and she lets her eyes flutter open slightly. His eyelids are heavy, the familiar gunmetal beneath focused on her so intently that for a moment, she finds herself lost in them. She recalls her own naiveté when she first saw them and wonders now if the two of them aren’t more matched. Letting out a slow breath, she rests her forehead against his. His fingers toy at the lace against her back and she shifts, breaking from him just long enough for him to pull her shirt overhead. She does the same and discards his to the side.  
She’s lost count of how many times her fingertips have grazed his scars; those old bullet wounds and long-healed gashes from knives. He’d tensed at first, like they’d been something he hadn’t wanted her to see. Now she traces them and with him the notion barely seems to register as she pushes him back. Lying against him, she turns her attention to his hair and the tiny hints of silver that have just barely begun to show themselves in the last year. The thought of Kogami’s hair turning gray amuses her, and she wonders which hints of her thirty years were showing themselves now.  
“That again,” he mutters, and she smiles at his tone.  
“I like it,” she chirps as her hands tangle in the dark and unapparent flecks of silver, and his eyes meet hers in a way that sends a wave of heat down her spine. He looks as though he’s enjoying some private joke of his own, and his hand finds her way to the hem of her skirt. The fabric tightens around her hips as she settles her weight over him and he pushes the hem higher up her thighs to her hips. Her body reacts before she can finish processing the thought that follows and within a breath she finds herself standing just long enough to rid herself of the last of her fabric constrictions. She’s only vaguely aware of him doing the same before he pulls her back onto him, his mouth coaxing hers as he pulls her legs around his waist. Feeling his hand slip between she gasps, and he catches her mid-breath in a hungry kiss. She breathes his name against his mouth--his first--and holds his gaze as his eyes flutter open with heavy lids. It’s a futile effort she knows, and she feels her face flush when his hand begins to move against her. Her head tilts back and his breath is hot against her neck as he plants kisses there that seem more urgent with every breath. Then she feels him shift, her back hitting the cool sheets and his heat and weight pressing over her.  
Her thoughts fade into his lips and hands coaxing her and the heat of his body against hers. She winces slightly when he enters her and he hesitates, softening a kiss to her lips until she returns the same. Even the contrasts around her seem to fade, from the freezing world outside to small beads of sweat that begin to form between them. Only the soft creaking of the mattress and their muffled sounds maintain her attention, and she moves with and against him in their matched and quiet pace.  
And it’s the quiet that strikes her most, she thinks. It’s not the kind she’s grown used to over the years with the sounds of the city below and the sound of the office clock ticking. It’s something more palpable, merging with the sounds of their blood racing and the bed beneath them. She wonders if she could ever be used to the thrill of it, or the simplicity woven within.  
She wonders if they ever will be.

*

Early into the following night, the alarm is deafening throughout the office. Akane stands, taking her coat from the back of her chair and slinging it over her shoulders. Another crime’s been committed, and area stress levels are raised. Ginoza watches her for a moment before doing the same, and the other enforcers follow. She gathers her team, glances over the details once more on her watch, and sets out for the cold.

**Author's Note:**

> Please don't copy or reupload anywhere. This drabble will also be posted to my Tumblr and FanFiction.net accounts (both linked below). 
> 
> Tumblr (Psycho-Pass side blog): 
> 
> FanFiction: https://www.fanfiction.net/u/9173490/
> 
> Thank you for reading!


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